


The Rubicon Delta

by Kieron_ODuibhir



Series: Cirque de Triomphe [23]
Category: DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Assassination, Bogeymen, Candlejack is mentioned and nobody gets kidnapped, Cold War, Earth-3, F/M, Gen, Grant Wilson exists to get killed and make Slade sad, Grief/Mourning, Mirror Universe, Parenthood, Politics, Secret Service - Freeform, Some Humor, Some Plot, Super Soldier Serum, War on Terror, and its aftermath, technically Jokester is classified as a domestic terrorist even though he doesn't kill people, there is so much meta in my author's note good grief, this impacts his credibility, which is why Bruce had it done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kieron_ODuibhir/pseuds/Kieron_ODuibhir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't get to stop being President just because you're in mourning.</p><p>You do get to mobilize the entire United States government in your mission to hunt down the murderers, though. In fact, it's expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rubicon Delta

**Author's Note:**

> This overlaps in time with the first part of 'take these broken wings,' which is also in the Grey Feathers series.
> 
> (Why is 'Secret Service' not a valid tag? I really hate when they autocorrect to '--freeform.')

Slade hated politics. Almost as much as he hated politicians. Even more than he hated winning an unfair fight.

So, naturally, he had come home from the war and run for office.

Addie, in her sharp-tongued way, had thought it made perfect sense: 'You hate them because they have power over things that actually matter, and almost none of them is capable of using it for anything worthwhile. You're stubborn and opinionated, and never met a fight you were willing to run from. Go for it, jerk, I'll watch your six.'

But it was actually sheer lunacy, and his wife only thought his decisions made sense because she was even crazier than he was.

She wasn't speaking to him, right now, but he was mostly sure they'd work things out. Maybe after the funeral. She'd taken charge of planning it, as much as she could while sitting by Joey's bed in the secure ward, bristling with weapons. Mostly, she was issuing commands via email. Slade could not think of anything he wanted to do _less_ than attend Grant's funeral, except miss it. So he'd be going. And then Adeline would probably talk to him again. She knew this was almost as much her fault as his.

It was strangely distant, the question of whether she would forgive him or not. Maybe after Joey recovered, he would actually care.

He leaned both hands against the rim of the sink, to keep himself from rubbing his face again when it had done nothing to dispel the exhaustion the last two times. Leaned in close to the mirror, staring himself in the eye, and in the socket.

Before today—well, two days ago, by now, but to him it had been one long, disgusting day, like the blackest moments of every campaign he had ever fought rolled up together—before _this,_ the empty pit he usually concealed under a patch had been his greatest loss, and he had been able to go mostly without mourning it. It had been lost in a good cause, and he had _won,_ even if it was an abomination that he had needed to _fight_ to stop his own men from committing war crimes.

He'd half expected a court-martial once he survived, because he'd countermanded the implicit orders of higher-ranking men and he'd already had a reputation for insubordination, but the facts and string-pulling had been laid out in his favor while he lay in medical, and he'd wound up with another purple heart and an offer of honorable discharge.

He'd stayed in the service another five years, because it had been all he knew, and it had been Addie, who'd taught him to _be_ a soldier, who'd asked him to learn to stop. For the boys' sake. He hadn't regretted it, not really, politics and all, until now. But God, he missed it, even the things he'd hated at the time. He missed Bill, who was fifteen years his senior and still fighting strong, who at least would probably turn up as soon as he heard and could get some leave from his own government. (He hadn't called yet, which meant he was on assignment somewhere off the grid, because that was the only way he wouldn't know by now. When you were President, your personal fuck-ups and tragedies were front-page news worldwide.)

Slade's grip on the sink tightened, as he glared into his own eye and let the absence of the other pound. If he'd still been field-ready, maybe he could have saved both boys, or at least saved Joey his injury. If he'd been content with a quiet retirement, nobody would have had any reason to try to hurt them. If he'd done a better job of eliminating all potential threats, or securing the White House, or…it wasn't partly Adeline's fault. It wasn't mostly anyone's fault but his. And _theirs._ The blank blue eyes of the assassin flashed across his mind's eye, again. Plenty of fault to go around, but  _his_ doing _._

Ceramic cracked under his hand, and he let go. Stared at the damaged edge of the basin. This was a semi-public West Wing bathroom, ducked into on his way between meetings, and though the guard outside was maintaining his privacy, someone was going to have to fix this. Trashing national property without an emergency to excuse it, well done Slade. Wonderful use of super-strength. Much better than _protecting your family._

Brooding did nothing. His _feelings_ did nothing. They were meaningless without action.

Slade splashed some water over his face, smoothed back his hair, resettled his eye patch, brushed his hands over his various concealed weapons, and strode out into the hall, where the head of the CBI was, as he'd more than half expected, waiting for him. The Secret Service trailing a man everywhere made subtlety a lost cause, even when privacy was managed. "Faraday," he nodded, resuming his stride toward the meeting for which he was only slightly late. "Tell me what you've got."

The usually-imperturbable spymaster's lips thinned, as he fell in beside Slade, flanked by the useless quartet of bodyguards. (In public he had nothing but good to say about the Secret Service and the men who had died minutes before his eldest son, but in the privacy of his head he could be as unappreciative as he liked and _if something happened he would probably be more use protecting them than the other way around_.) Faraday was overseeing the entire network of task forces devoted to investigating the assassination, and probably hadn't slept any more than Slade had in the last thirty hours. "Not enough. Nothing to link him to any known group. We've received suggestions that he might be several urban legends, including Spring-Heeled Jack, _el Cucuy_ , der Schwarze Mann, Talon of the Court of Owls, something called a Candlejack…a crack team are pursuing possible connections to the Metropolis Ultraman on the basis of the red cape…."

"It won't be him," Slade cut in. "Ultraman is obsessed with shows of force, and having his power acknowledged. If he had targeted my children, there would have been no sneaking about it."

He had been able to injure the assassin, after all. Whatever he had been, and even if the Ultraman _had_ sent him, he wasn't that. There was also the fact that Alexander Luthor had installed an anti-Kryptonian defense system on the White House grounds years ago, that should have engaged if Ultraman or any other member of his species approached. (Slade believed in it because the versions on Luthor's own homes and places of business saw regular use.) It was one of the few security installations _not_ receiving a complete overhaul after the fiasco.

Faraday was noncommittal. "That _could_ be what he wants you to think."

"Mm," Slade acknowledged. Well, they had the resources to devote. "Leave the team on it for now. Who's pursuing those other suggestions?"

"The…ones that don't exist, sir?" Faraday pretty much only called him _sir_ when he meant _dumbass_ ; Slade knew that even without Adeline telling him. But the thing about subtle criticism was that you were free to ignore it.

"Yes, those. Don't eliminate anything as impossible until you've examined it thoroughly. I recall some loud insistence on the existence of the Court of Owls a few years ago."

"From the clinically insane leader of an anarchist cell. Yes. In fact, his is the most detailed communication we've gotten on that suggestion."

"Luthor seems to think the clown is misunderstood."

"With respect, Mr. President, Luthor's politics are…questionable, at best."

"You mean he's only a Democrat because it's not good business to be a socialist," said Slade dryly.

"Sounds about right."

"The Cold War is over, King."

It had been over for a decade. Observing that the Cold War was over and no one in power seemed able to adapt to that fact had been half of what propelled him into politics; they say old generals are always trying to fight the last war over again. Old colonels too, maybe, but he intended different.

"Yes, sir."

"But a terrorist is a terrorist." And a lead was a lead, no matter how stupid. "Put a team on the bogeyman legends," he decided.

"Yes, sir."

Slade smirked at the flat irony in Faraday's voice, but knew he'd follow through. Tossed him a nod, opened the conference room door, and went in to be raked across the coals by the Joint Chiefs of Staff who'd wanted to see him much earlier, but had simply not been urgent enough to trump crisis management. He was going to need their cooperation, though, if he planned to catch up to the mask-faced young murderer, chase him back to his nest, and burn it to the ground.

He hated politics, but he'd never met a fight he was willing to run from.

**Author's Note:**

> King Faraday is a kind of horrible person, but not evil in the supervillain sense, so I've left him alone. 'Bill' is William Wintergreen II, Slade's British best friend; per canon they served in the same unit, somehow, and Slade heroically saved Bill's life and got his lifelong servitude in return, somehow. (Adeline, Slade's primary Spec Ops instructor, is also sometimes British. I don't think the Deathstroke writers understand how countries work.)
> 
> Good Slade here is a Republican who somehow snagged Clinton's second term from him—that must have been some campaign; toppling a competent incumbent is _not easy_. Maybe Clinton had a worse scandal, sooner. But Slade does have over his real-world counterpart Bob Dole being youngish and charismatic and good-looking like Clinton, while _also_ being a decorated veteran like Dole. Dole's honors were from WWII, and did not play as well in the 1996 election as his party had hoped. (Note that Bob Dole and Bob Dold are different people.)
> 
> President Wilson is fairly old-school as Republicans go, fancies himself a second Eisenhower and has focused heavily on domestic infrastructure, and in spite of it being illegal to audit the Pentagon his war bona-fides and insider knowledge have made him unusually able to crack down on waste and graft in that military-industrial complex old five-star warned us about. Relatedly, he's not that popular with his Joint Chiefs. 
> 
> His budget is still less balanced than Clinton's was, but his law enforcement policies may actually have been significantly less damaging, since while he still oversaw a lot of the late-90s criminalization-of-poverty measures he scaled back some of the stupider parts of the War on Drugs. Because he's trained and experienced in guerilla warfare and capable of identifying the difference between 'doing something' and 'doing something productive' in this sort of context. (I know I'm giving a lot of credit to somebody whose first appearance involved calling his prospective employers 'bozos,' but hey, they _were_ bozos, and Slade is supposed to be very smart. Though not at all wise.)
> 
> His second term here sees him replacing Bush II, and since he doesn't start any wars he is massively superior. Although the government surveillance overreach Faraday is going to organize as part of this investigation is comparable to what we got starting in the real 2001. I hate politics.
> 
> To return to the comforting embrace of fandom, Deathstroke's identity has hinged on his status as a dad since his very first appearance. He even used to be an okay one, for being what he is, though he kind of went insane sometime around the turn of the millennium and started treating Rose appallingly. XD That one time he teamed up with the Doom Patrol to save the Titans (because Joey and Gar), and Mento was like 'you're not even worried!' and Slade was like 'this is my worried face bitch, but how exactly is freaking out right now going to help our kids?'


End file.
